Conspiracy
by Milareppa
Summary: A series of stand-alone but related stories concerning the plans the Dog General and Toutousai had for the swords. Chapter 3: A different look at why Kagura couldn’t be saved. A darker look.
1. Conspiracy

**Setting: **Pre-Manga Canon.**  
Rating: K+  
Characters:** Inu no Taishou & Toutousai**  
Genre:** Angst/Family  
**Author's Note: **This was inspired by a 2009 challenge prompt called "Bug" in the Inu Yasha Themes Livejournal community.

**Summary:** Some responsibilities are harder than others – for both masters and their servants.

* * *

**Conspiracy**

'You're really going to do this?'

Clouds huddled above dull rocks, intensifying the strained expression on the old man's face. He watched the half-light shy away from the dark-stained metal in his hands as shouki gently caressed his companion, shrouding the ethereal figure in shades of murky grey.

_Like a wraith_, Toutousai thought uneasily, and then wished he hadn't.

'It's already done.' Softly spoken words that were little more than a rumble of movement in the back of his throat forced the sword-smith's hearing to strain to capture a truth his reluctant heart already knew. 'Only you can finish it.'

Toutousai's gaze drifted from the broad-shouldered back, sliding across the empty space to linger again on the newly tarnished blade. 'I was never meant to break this sword.'

'Then don't break it.' A sliver of yellow light shot across one shoulder, striking the old man deep in the eye. It did not come from the dying sun. 'Find a way.'

Toutousai flinched and looked away. 'The runt will…'

'Leave him alone.'

'Even if…?'

The flashing gaze was suddenly gone. Distance once more yawned between them, an insurmountable chasm.

'What if he dies?'

'He's my son.'

The silence stretched on. In his hands, the blade restlessly acknowledged its creator's uncertainty. It was as resolute as the one that had commissioned its creation. Toutousai sighed, defeated. 'The one you visited. Is he…?'

'I took his face.'

This time, true alarm lanced through the old man's heart. 'And his life?'

'It's not mine to take. Toutousai, what questions are these? You know my will.'

'And the will of this new sword…?'

There was no immediate answer. Breath sighed through barely-parted lips, only a temporary breeze.

_The ephemeral wind…_

One day, the daiyoukai knew, that would be important - but not today. Today, he simply had to create a door to the path. And that meant…

'Patience,' he said simply. 'And the strength to endure.'

The old smith scratched his head thoughtfully. 'You need me to make a sword that'll bug him, huh?'

'No.'

Through the toxic plumes that ghosted in the lifeless air, the Dog General stared at the distant horizon, his head slowly sinking to his chest with the sun that vanished behind the mountain ridge. It suited him, this darkness that hid the expression on his face. That hid his heart.

'I need you to make a sword he'll hate.'

**FIN**


	2. Secret Keeper

**Setting:** Manga Canon  
**Rating: K+  
Pre-requisites:** Chapter 495.  
**Characters: **Toutousai**  
Genre:** Angst  
**Author's Note:** This was inspired by a 2009 challenge prompt called "Secret" in the Inu Yasha Themes Livejournal community.

**Summary:** Being a loyal retainer carries certain responsibilities... and certain risks.

* * *

**Secret-Keeper**

It was true that there were times when the old man wavered, when he wondered if it would not have been better to simply accept the inevitable; to accept that there were some things even his master could fail to achieve.

There had been times when he had felt that the only thing his master's son would ever surpass the master at would be stubbornness.

Perhaps there was a reason behind the madness of his master's plan; or, more accurately perhaps, a reason _for_ the madness of the master's plan.

If anyone else had asked…

Even now, despite the identity of the one that had asked, the old smith felt his shoulders shake. This plan would drive _him_ to madness - if he survived long enough to see it to its conclusion that was.

Loyalty was one thing, confidence quite another. The first time he had spotted the thread of sanity, had been the day that he had felt one pulse in the distance. With every strike, a sliver of his soul was beaten into each blade he forged; when a sword pulsed, his heart shuddered too. A second surge, moments later, had settled into a soft, steady rhythm that had echoed through his chest like a second heart. Even so, it had felt wrong, almost cavernous. Hollow.

That idiot had actually managed to awaken the sword and ignore it at the same time.

He had gone anyway, contemplating as he did so that this thread of sanity should have eased the weight on his shoulders rather than intensified it. The reason, of course, was the knowledge of where this plan was going, of what would happen next.

'_As you gain in strength…'_

To have taken his words so literally… how that arrogant jerk could have mastered it so easily and at the same time missed the point so completely was beyond comprehension.

Why had the sword insisted it was time? Some swords were capable of puzzling even a sword smith. It worried him – it was his life that was on the line. After all, who else knew the answers? Who else knew the _questions_? And when that became obvious…

That day had been approaching far too quickly. Now it was almost here. When the sword's growth had stagnated, an impasse had been reached with only one path left to walk. The master's plan had unfolded with the grace of a hydrangea; a spark of colour within the gloom, this beauty in the darkness preceded far worse weather – the old man had been relieved to not be a party to what would happen next, until he had remembered what would come next if the test was actually passed. _Who_ would come next.

The only one with the courage or will to lift the lid on what had been hidden for so long…

And then?

Then all roads would lead right back to him. That loyal retainer, that sword smith. That secret-keeper.

Toutousai grabbed his ink.

It was time to leave.

**FIN.**


	3. Sacrifice

**Setting:** Manga Canon.**  
Rating: K+  
Characters:** Tenseiga  
**Genre:** Angst  
**Author's Note:  
**1. This was inspired by a 2009 challenge prompt called "Dark" in the Inu Yasha Themes Livejournal community.**  
**2. Somehow, this story has turned into a sequel to both "Conspiracy" and "Secret-Keeper". I don't know how this could have happened. Certainly when I began writing this prompt I didn't envisage it as a sequel to anything, and those two stories were never consciously designed to work together. And yet, somehow, all three stories have become connected. Despite the order in which I've written these stories, the plot order would be as follows: "Conspiracy" followed by "Secret-Keeper" followed by "Sacrifice". Obviously, since this wasn't planned, all three stories can be read alone, but they seem to be working quite well as sequential stories as well. Isn't it weird how muses sometimes work?

**Summary: **A different look at why Kagura couldn't be saved. A darker look.

* * *

**Sacrifice**

'_In order for the sword to mature, you pretty much have to make some sacrifices.'_

It was said that the dog was a creature possessed of supernatural vision. Stories told of dogs that could divine wealth for virtuous masters, guide cruel men to ruin, and whose howls foretold disasters that had not even happened yet. It was in the nature of a dog to be prescient. It was in its blood, and in its very bones.

For a dog's fang to be used to forge a sword that could itself forge a future for a wayward dog… it was more than poetry, the sword-smith knew. It was destiny.

Such concepts that were deemed so important to youkai and humans alike were meaningless to one that was neither. It existed to ensure events unfolded as they were supposed to. It possessed no interest outside of this one, single duty, but in all matters pertaining to its duty, it was relentless.

If it bothered others that a sword capable of compassionate acts could accept as its true master one that lacked compassion, it did not bother the sword. Its purpose was, after all, to awaken compassion in a heart that had none.

If it had to wither unused, an ornament that completed an armoured look, the sword was not concerned. Its patience weathered such empty years with greater fortitude than mere flesh ever could. It was still doing its duty, after all – constantly reflecting one muscle that lay buried beneath layers of armour and silk. Uncared for, perhaps; ignored, it was true: yet it was faithfully carried nevertheless.

If it was willing to allow its true master to be felled, to experience the shock of pain ripple through his body before it deigned to intervene, that was this sword's right – as was sustaining its master's paralysis simply to ensure his vulnerability to a mere human child. Surely it was justified upon experiencing that first flutter of awareness for the state of another's health? If that built up its master's pride, creating a false sense of security in the face of death, to lie by omission of its unspoken weakness, and to fan the flames of arrogance by supporting the creation of a maleficent sword, was that not appropriate? If the prideful could only be taught through a moment – no matter how brief – of humility, then was it not best to allow them to climb to a great height before they fell?

And so, if it decided to stand by while its master watched a woman die, ignoring his call as he had once ignored its presence at his hip, then surely that was no more than its purpose demanded? To be the reason its master knew what it was to feel sorrow and anger at a life so uselessly lost, to be waiting for that very moment before offering something more – something that would make the climb to that prideful summit all the easier – then did that not mean it was performing its duty admirably? Was it not also true that to encourage its master further, it would be reasonable to try such a successful trick twice, to let slip a second life? And was it not an act of wisdom to ensure its still-reeling master would then immediately learn one of the most damning truths about the sword at his hip? After all, why let momentum falter when it was clearly achieving so much?

If its behaviour was dark in any way – if it reflected that of the predator toying with its prey – then that was only acceptable. It was forged from the fang of a dog. It _was_ a predator. This was, after all, the one truth left about the sword that had barely been revealed, that had been ignored, not just by its true master, but even by its own creator. For Tenseiga was the one sword this sword-smith had created that he never understood. It was a simple failure, one that stemmed from a single source: the smith had misunderstood the purpose for which the sword was crafted and had thus believed that producing a compassionate master would require ownership of a compassionate sword.

He had been wrong.

He had forged a sword that, in completing the purpose for which it had been created, had given up everything its master needed to obtain.

Toutousai had not created a sword of compassion.

He had created a sword of sacrifice.

**FIN**


End file.
